


Rise Up (In the Morning)

by terminallyCosplay



Series: October Verse [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: College Setting, Modern AU, POV shift, a morning with ham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:41:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8528215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terminallyCosplay/pseuds/terminallyCosplay
Summary: You love looking at him, if you’re honest with yourself. When he first wakes up in the morning, unless he’s subjected himself to be braided the night before, his curls have expanded to the point where it sits as a halo around his head. He can awake ethereal where you have never.





	

There’s something about him. Maybe that’s why you study him all the time. There’s something phenomenal about him and for all your words, all your writings, you cannot find the words that describe him. They have always escaped you. Words can’t be used to describe all of John Laurens at once. You frequently find yourself getting lost in every curve and curl of him and hope that someday you can either escape or explain him in his magnitude. You love looking at him, if you’re honest with yourself. When he first wakes up in the morning, unless he’s subjected himself to be braided the night before, his curls have expanded to the point where it sits as a halo around his head. He can awake ethereal where you have never. He yawns, stretching those lips which you adore kissing, adore rubbing with your thumbs, and enjoy watching quirk into smiles. His eyebrows are perfect, his forehead still smooth and untroubled first thing in the morning. The way his ears frame his curls, you can’t get enough of them either. You want to take apart every inch of him, study it until you’re sure you can’t find anything more and it’s never enough.

He turns slightly, light bouncing as his curls bounce. The change in lighting on him makes the freckles across his face pop, and it makes you melt a little on the inside. You never wanted this. Growing up, you lost pretty much everyone you ever cared about. You let out a sigh and pretend to go back to your notes. His jaw is framed perfectly by a trail of freckles down his face, and you can’t look at him for too long. The more you look, the worse you get. You understand Lafayette entirely when he melts as Laurens enters the room. Laurens has somehow stolen you somewhere along the way as well. You make a little noise as he jostles you, draping those arms over you. They fit perfectly as he buries his face into the crook of your shoulder. He wraps himself, careful not to disturb your laptop as you’re working.

Laurens is small, everything about him is small and compact. You can feel his muscles, redefining his body after a few months passed. He kisses your cheek, coaxing a reluctant smile out of you. He lets out a hum and your essay goes forgotten because the way he tugs at you, completely innocent and full of promise is just the way you need it and he makes you need it. He doesn’t need devotion, though you’re sure you’ve already given it to him. He just needs a reassurance that the two of you are still together, you still exist in the same place as you had before, that this was real. You sometimes need the assurance too. Your knees go weak as he mumbles things to you, mainly nonsense. You brush him off with a later and he gets up. When he pouts, his entire face just becomes even more irresistible. You mouth an apology, commit to the sign and get back to work, or hope to, because then he’s going onto the kitchen, and whenever he’s in the kitchen, the music is on and he’s dancing. You really don’t want to go and watch him, but you can’t help but go. You go under the pretense that you know he’ll be making coffee, and that it’ll be for you. You at least take the laptop with you as a pretense of what you’ll be doing, which is definitely not watching him.

The radio is already on, turned so low that it’s barely there as background noise. He smiles at you as he fills up the coffee pot, and god, he’s standing on his toes. He’s come a long way since where he had been before. A couple weeks ago, he was still off balance from when he broke his leg. He yawns as he stretches again. He goes into a forward bend and you strain to take a glance. Your boyfriend is as healthy as you are not, you realize. You prefer pizza and takeout and John, your John, eats organic and does yoga whenever he feels tense. You wish you had half that fervor, but you don’t. You really don’t. He does, he has that conviction and you’re jealous and you love it, especially as he bends himself into shapes you’re not able to comprehend. He’s lean and you can see the outline of his calves through the leggings he favors to wear around the house, especially when it’s cold and the heater isn’t quite warm enough for either of you. He stretches one leg to the ceiling, and your knees go a bit weaker. He stretches his other leg, and you bite back a reaction as you sit at the counter, laptop at your fingertips and the premise of working on an essay on your lips. You’re just waiting for the coffee; you try to tell yourself. You want it to be true.

He rights himself up again, fixing soft shirt and oversized sweater. You adore him in this. He looks this way most of the time. His flyaway curls are tucked back into a ponytail, his limbs engulfed in a huge sweater, his legs in leggings and his feet usually shoved into women’s shoes and he’s just perfect. He’s so androgynous that sometimes, most of the time, you’re caught breathless as you try to figure out who dropped this angel off. This angel who took you in with no hesitation, no reserve, even though he had plenty to be afraid of. You hate that he’s softening you. You used to be so indifferent to everyone, so cold, so closed off, but he melted you. You’ve forgiven Lafayette, you’ve forgiven Hercules. You’ve let Laurens and Thomas both move closer to you. You let Burr back in, and Laurens has taught you the greatest thing of all along the way. He taught you to forgive, something that you hadn’t mastered before. He stretches as he moves back across the room and you let out a little noise as he gets the coffee mugs.

He’s singing. His singing is amazing to you. He spits rhymes and poetry whenever he pleases. He’s got a following as a slam poet, and even though you want to be a lawyer, you can’t help but have the same fire and passion as him. You could do so much more after learning from him and studying him. You have the brash and dedication. His schooling and upbringing have given him a polish and shine that’s energetic, it’s so magnetic without even trying to be. He’s just singing along to the radio, and you can’t help but smile and want to laugh as he starts doing Dark Horse again. He’s free when there’s music on. All of his political standings are melted into a soft background. His worry for the world is gone. His hurt over the latest shooting or violence is gone for a moment. Sometimes you wish you could wrap him up in this, have him be in this ethereal place forever. You wish you could keep him here, and you want him here. He flashes you a grin.

“ _are you ready for- ready for- the perfect storm?”_

He always tries getting you to sing and it never works. You never sing with him. Maybe it’s because you don’t think you can ever compare to him. Your words are just as important. Laurens makes sure you know that. He reminds you that you’re alive and full of fire. He reminds you that you survived a Hurricane that destroyed your home. He reminds you that it was your words that got you here. He has the validation you need to survive. You love that validation. You love that he’s there and this is all real. Some days, it settles in too deep- you resonate too much with the struggles of the islands to the South, you resonate too much with minorities. You wish you could resonate more. You wish that you could do more, but action takes time. Laurens, brash and quick to action also understands it. Sometimes you get caught up in that fervor- the eye of the hurricane still resides in John Laurens and you and the others are aware of it. You’re all aware that John will often rush to his own destruction. You’ve tried being more diplomatic. Hercules is the voice of reason among the four of you.

You find him at rallies, are aware that somehow he has become an avenging angel to you, and you are in his presence. He can fight with righteous fury and have watched people quake before him as he calls for justice. Those are some days with Laurens. Other days you watch him write political essays and support movements. You’ve watched him go down to Central Park and Times Square in a Free Hugs shirt and stand there for hours. You know both sides. You know that more than anything he longs for equality and peace. Liberty and Justice for all. He turns to you as he finishes the coffee, and offers a smile. You’re startled from your train of thought about him. He holds out your mug. He had decided this one was yours, and you accepted that. He assigns things, things he knows you’ll love even if you don’t know it yet. John Laurens somehow gets all of you. You offer a smile, and he laughs lightly. He kisses your cheek, leaning onto you again. You have an essay; you remind yourself as he presses into you. He reminds you to work on your essay too. You refrain somehow from pointing out that at this point, John Laurens is the reason that you are not working on your essays at this moment. He points out a typing error as he glances at your screen.

You look and yes, there are several. English isn’t a primary language to you. You can eloquently speak thanks to him. Sometimes, you can’t write it right. Sure, the primary language was English, but part of the island was speaking your own tongue, your creole, and that’s what you learned. He never holds this against you, and you’re glad of it. You’ve taken to speaking French with him, you speak Latin and English. You and Lafayette and Laurens can all spit in French just as well as you can in English. You mumble a thank you and correct it. He comments briefly on how you’re really good now, that that was probably made due to the lack of sleep instead. He’s not wrong, and you try not to acknowledge the fact. He compliments you again in your native tongue, and your chest does that familiar flutter hurt. You flutter because John Laurens is mending you. You hurt because there are too many nights where you worry that he’ll vanish as well.

When Laf moved in with you two, the peace and momentum you had built up almost failed you. You don’t share very well; you don’t fret very well. You were worried that this would be what took John from you. These fears were completely pointless. The three of you had rearranged. Lafayette got the bedroom, and you didn’t take a room at all. You at first only crawled into bed with Laurens. There were some nights that you chose Lafayette too, depending on your moods. You weren’t in love with Lafayette, at least not in the way that you loved Laurens, but he was dependable too. You just sometimes felt like you couldn’t be near him. You felt like sometimes, most of the time, Laurens was still somehow to pure to be touched and that you’d ruin him. You wonder a lot if you already are. Where would he be without you? Where would you be without him?

He mumbles something and gets up, kissing you lightly. For a moment all you can do is inhale the lavender and vanilla scents that make up his presence, and that’s all that was needed. He calms you, he breaks you from your reverie and your reverence to him.

“We’ll be late if we don’t go soon,” he reminds you.

You simply nod and smile, watching the curve and curls as they move from you. This is your John Laurens.


End file.
